


Gift

by Fyre



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-27
Updated: 2012-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-31 20:06:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/347884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, Rumpelstiltskin offered Snow White something very rare indeed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gift

**Author's Note:**

> I've been doing a re-watch. Trust me when I say that if you're a Rumpelstiltskin fan re-watching after 'Skin Deep', this is like accidentally grating your finger then pouring lemon juice on it. In all the best ways.

Rumpelstiltskin always knew he was feared and dreaded.

People only sought him in the height of desperation, and while they cursed themselves and raged against the trials that had led them to him, they still called out to him. The stink of self-loathing and frustration was rank and bitter in his nostrils, acrid like smoking hide.

When she came, it was different. 

Snow White.

He followed the tales of the Kingdoms with indifference, if only to keep his eyes open for those who would seek him in time to come. He had no reason to care. That had long been taken from him, as had any choice in his role or his place.

He knew of Snow White, and of the tentative, unusual courtship of the sheep farmer and the renegade Princess. She did not know that young James was not a Prince, and he only knew the rumours that she was a Princess. Of course they were fated to fall in love.

Her arrival on Rumpelstiltskin's isle was unusual.

It was his refuge and his sanctuary, away from people, away from their desperation, their misery, their emotions. No one came there. No one ventured to the places where the monsters lived, not if they wanted to survive.

Snow White did.

The first he knew of her approach was the scent carried across the water. It was a smell he knew well, and could never forget: the smell of the dawn, the whisper of the fragrance of roses and, inexplicably, the scent of soap. It was the scent of heartbreak, rare in its purity, and always and ever linked to one person for him.

Rumpelstiltskin rose from his solitude, and was by the water as the small boat drew in. He could not be himself, so he put on his mask, and he waited, and became the trickster she sought. 

All would have been well, until he saw her eyes.

She was fair, it was true, but she could not have been fairest of them all if another had lived. His heart twisted in pain. It only added to grief upon grief. Her hair was dark as a raven's wing, her cheek rosy but her eyes were dark. In his mind, true beauty has blue eyes, bright as stars, but Snow White's eyes - like hers - brimmed with sorrow and that almost brought him to his knees.

She asked for a cure, and even before he asked, he knew what the cause was. 

It was no great toil to craft a potion, gathering a little water and a little of her, mingling them with a spark of magic. He would give her the solace and forgetfulness that he could not grant himself. He had tried charms and spells and potions, but his curse was that while he could give anyone what they wanted for a price, no deal he made with himself would ever stand. He couldn't forget, even when he took refuge in the flask that travelled with him, tucked into his sleeve.

Perhaps that was why he broke his own cardinal rule: no one can get something for nothing. Everything has a price.

He held out the bottle to her. "It's a gift."

She looked as surprised as he felt. Everyone knew him, everyone knew that he didn't give anything away for free. "What's your price?"

He gazed at her, young and in love and heartbroken. Several strands of her hair were clinging to his fingers, hair of the woman that the Queen hated. He hated himself for thinking of the possibilities, but smiled and named that as his price.  
Even if he didn't have a use for them yet, he knew he could find one.

Spells often worked better with the touch of purity and grief, especially ones that he could use to bring down the woman who led him to doubt his Belle.

He walked into the darkness, leaving her to her decision. If he had such a bottle, he no longer knew if he would drink. For days and weeks, he longed to wipe his mind clean, but something gradually changed. He would never and could never forget her, and even if he drank, he knew she would still be a part of him.

His hand slipped to his sleeve and he found his flask.

He would always remember, but - just for a moment - he would like to be able to forget.


End file.
